Page 14 of Cherish Me

“You.” I recoil back, then yank free of his grasp. “Let me go. I need to—”

“To what?” His voice is low. Harsh. “To go to him? They’ll shoot you the moment you stand up.”

“I have to know if he’s—”

“Nikki,” he says gently. “If he was in that bathroom, then Damien is dead.”

I draw a deep breath, trying to convince myself that he’s right. I want to scream. I want to cry.

“Stay here. Stay calm.” His voice is low. His lips barely moving. “We can get through this, but not if you fly off the handle. And right now, that means if you want to stay alive, I’m your husband.”

“What?”

“If they see you alone with two drinks, they’ll know you’re with someone who’s missing. Probably a man. If he’s dead—and we don’t know that he is—you could be a problem. Easier for them to just get rid of you. If he’s alive, then they’ll know you’re his weakness.”

He turns to look at me. “So you tell me. Who am I?”

My gut twists into knots as I whisper my reply. “Right now, I guess you’re my husband.”

He nods. “Hush now. He’s coming.”

I watch as one of the two men collects the phones from Aubert and his two companions. Then he snaps at the cowering date couple at the two-top, taking their phones and ordering them into the booth next to ours, putting all of us in the same section of the restaurant. He demands the anniversary couple’s phones, too, then heads toward us.

I start to tremble. A bone-deep shivering that consumes my whole body.

“Deep breaths,” Red whispers. “You need to stay calm.”

I know. Of course I know.

I nod, then dig deep inside myself, finding the well of strength that Damien always says I have in me.

But do I? Can I really get through this?

“Phones. Now.” The man in black stands right in front of us, then nods at the table. I put my phone down, grateful there’s nothing identifying on the lock screen. Beside me, Red does the same.

The man in black tosses them in a to-go bag along with all the others.

“Name?”

“Nina Stanfield,” I say as he glances at something on his own phone, presumably a guest registry.

“You Dennis Stanfield?”

“That’s right,” Red says. “Her husband.”

“Now be good boys and girls, and when this is over, you’ll get out of here. Nobody needs to get hurt.”

I want to scream that they already hurt my husband, but Red’s hand tightening on my arm shuts me up.

Then the man in black turns his back on us, as if hammering in the point of who has the power here, and walks slowly away.

I yank my arm free from Red, then force myself not to cry.

Images of blood and flesh flash through my mind. The memory of cutting when I’d been certain that the rescue had fallen apart and that Anne was dead. I glance at the table and see the knife. And somehow that strengthens me.

Because I won’t use it. Not now. Not even if—oh, God, no—I never see him again. I know that Damien wouldn’t want me to cut. He’d want me to be strong. He’d want me to believe that he’s safe. He has to be safe.

Right now, I have to believe. I have to stay alive and believe that Damien is well, too. Because I can’t go on without that belief. Except, of course, I have to. He’d want me to be there to be strong for the girls.